


Peace

by sweptaway



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: (which she wont), F/M, Forced Prostitution, Pedophilia, Sexual Abuse, but ofc will not admit for the Life of him that he Does, mentions of a family fight, not unless she admits it first, stupid boy has a stupid crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptaway/pseuds/sweptaway
Summary: "this is not yearning" he says while blatantly yearning
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Kudos: 19





	Peace

Annie’s always been pretty, Finnick’s been confidently sure of that.

She’s not like any of the people he’s come across, not like any of the girls he might’ve found attractive in the Capitol. She’s real, in her very soul, she’s real. Everything about her is real. Her hands aren’t too soft, her eyes are too wide, she laughs too loud, when she blushes her whole face- whole **body** \- goes red( he’s fairly sure ), and her lips are soft. 

That’s not a flaw. Maybe none of that’s a flaw, he doesn’t know anymore. But he knows he likes her lips. And her hands, and her eyes, and the rest of her too. Maybe there’s something wrong with him. 

No, there’s no maybe. There definitely is. He knew, really, that there is something deeply wrong when he was 16 and had spent the day with her before his birthday, before he’d be whisked off to the Capitol for the first time of many, when he genuinely considered the pros and cons of losing his virginity to **her** instead of anyone who’d throw themself at him.  
And what was even worse-- what he considered to be the **worst** thing, was how he didn’t consider that obligation. More so it brought on this feeling like he’d waited for **her** , waited to be old enough, ready enough, with **her** enough, and now he had run out of time. Like then was as good a time as any, and maybe - if he was lucky - he’d have some peace of mind. Like he wasn’t too dirty for her to ever consider touching, there was still some good left to him, the Capitol hadn’t tainted him yet. 

But then why did that matter? It’s not like she’d touch him anyway. She wouldn’t, they weren’t like that. They wouldn’t be, and he shouldn’t expect that of her. 

“Hey, Finnick?” Annie says. Her voice is light and airy and travels through to him with such specific ease that it’s calming. Sometimes her voice is so comforting that he’s not sure how it could be real, really. Like it’s some noise that’s pulled through his subconscious, reaching him in a dream. 

He remembers when she **did** have a crush on him. How open she was about it, how it was almost so present it was just plain weird. She’d tell him he was pretty, she’d blush when he laughed or returned compliments, she’d give him gifts and her face would light up while anticipating his response, she’d cling to him. In whatever way she could, she’d cling to him. 

She still does all of those, he knows that. But she was so open then. If she still felt that way, why would he second-guess it now? Wouldn’t she just tell him, verbally? Wouldn’t she kiss him? 

“Do the stars ever kiss, Finnick?” 

His face burned, his mouth opened stupidly. “What?” 

He was glad it was dark. They sat out on the beach, a bit farther back from the shoreline so the waves didn’t drench them, only occasionally skimmed their feet or legs, depending on how they sat.  
They were out here to watch the stars, the open sea leaving the sky so wide it looked round over the horizon. Finnick had a fight with his father, questioning his morals and care, leading to a nightmare. Annie was the only person he could stand to see without an overwhelming feeling of guilt washing over him at the moment. Mags knew too much, anyone else didn’t know him well enough or didn’t care enough. 

Annie had almost always been such a prominent figure like this. The comfort he’d rely on, the comfort he wanted to return. Sometimes the hurt he felt reached a point that only the idea of holding her, enveloped in his arms, curled up with her back to his chest, his hands in hers, could calm him down. Some way he could hold her without her seeing him, without her finding out why he’s so shaken up. 

He’d never act on that. 

“Do they ever kiss? Do they hug? Or get lonely?” 

Could she read his mind?  
“They’re only stars, Annie.” 

“But if they’re made up of energy,” she says, matter-of-factly. “How are they any different from us?” 

**Us**. 

Us, who want to kiss and hug, who feel lonely, who yearn. 

Stupid. He does not. Not really. 

“They’re **only** made up of energy,” he replies. “Hydrogen, helium— those things. Those aren’t **people** things. They don’t have any bones or .. whatever.” 

“How do you know?” Annie tips her head up like she might pout. She’s not looking at him, she’s been watching the sky this entire time, though he wished she would look at him. 

No, he’s grateful she isn’t looking at him as he is grateful that it’s dark. He’d be too easy to read any other way, his walls and firm guard come down too quickly with her. 

“Because—“ 

“You’ve never seen a star in real life. Not up close. Never touched one—“ 

“You **can’t** —“ 

“So then you don’t know!” She’s laughing. It does that thing again where it lights up her whole face and he stares at her. He doesn’t understand how she’s so radiant. “You can’t judge it then; I say they get lonely.” 

Finnick nodded, chuckling under his breath. 

“If they overlap sometimes, they meet up .. do you think they make babies?” 

He laughed harder, almost spat the noise, shrugging. “Like how flowers do, maybe.” He never claimed to know everything about stars. Only the basics, and constellations, and old sailor folklore or weather-telling. And he liked it that way, he liked it when things were simple. 

“Maybe.” Annie repeats, nodding. Her knees are tucked under her chin, supporting her head up as she looks and stares off. 

There’s no moon tonight, only the stars to give off just enough illumination to make out each other. Finnick looks at her longer than he realizes, considers holding her hand at least twice. It’s not fair, none of this is. She’s so beautiful and he can’t kiss her. 

He remembers when he’d wanted to kiss her before. They were younger, they were dumb kids who would lick at each other’s cheeks for **fun**. They’d trample each other with it, laugh until their ribs ache, until either of their family had to call or drag them away. It was funny, he thinks, it was always just funny. Sometimes, when he spaced out, the hurt from his Games pulling him much too into himself, Annie decided licking his cheek — like a **dog** — was the best decision to help him. 

It did. She shocked him, it was present, it made him laugh, it was gross. Sometimes it was the best bit of help a barely 14 year old girl could do. Sometimes he wanted to kiss her for it— they were already so close, why stop there? 

If she liked him, why wouldn’t she kiss him? Everyone else does, why not her? He supposes because, even if she **did** like him like that, she’s not like anyone in the Capitol. She can see how he’s feeling, she can understand it, and understand **him**. 

If she wanted to kiss him, wouldn’t she see that he wants to? 

He hated how distracted he’s being, how absent he feels. Annie nudges him with her arm, gaining a bit of his attention back. “Look at that,” she says, pointing up at the sky. “That one’s orange.” 

Finnick looked at her, stayed for a moment, then followed where she pointed. “Mars.” He replied simply, a bit of a grin tugging up his face. 

Annie looked at him, then at the planet. She chewed on her lip and squinted at the sky as if she was expecting something to happen. “What’s that mean?” 

“That it’s close,” he laughed. She looked at him again, squinted at **him** now. Finnick laughed harder. “What? It’s nearby, that’s all.” 

“No story?” 

“What?” 

“No story! The sailors had nothing to say about that?” 

He was laughing harder than he should be now. “No, not really. I’ve told you all there is — it’s navigation, there’s not so much fun—“ 

“He **is** lonely.” 

He blinked. “Who?” 

“Mars,” 

She was so caring, about **everything**. Everything she did, everything she knows; it’s all taken with such gentle care that Finnick’s constantly left to wonder how she got caught up in a friendship like theirs, a person like him, or a world like this at all. Surely she deserved better than anything here had to offer. 

Maybe she’d do better on Mars, he has no idea what life’s like there. Maybe it’d be safer. 

Though the thought alone— just the unrealistic vision of her living on another **planet** , something that could never happen— left him with an unmistakable sort of hollowness. It would never happen, she’d always be stuck right here, it wasn’t fair. But he’d like to bring her some peace. If she couldn’t flee off to another planet, he’d like to at least provide some sort of comfort since she **can’t** leave. He’d like to provide for her the same she provides for him, that instant relief from everything else, to melt it away. No, she’s never had hardships like his, but he knows she gets upset, insecure. 

What is there to be insecure over? She’s Annie Cresta, she’s irreplaceable in a world meant for replacement. 

“I told you,” she continued. “That’s why he’s so close to us now; he’s lonely. He wants to be seen.” 

Finnick’s laughter softened, his eyes studying all of Annie that he could manage at this position. 

Of course, it’s only science. That’s how this works. Planets don’t get lonely, they don’t feel anything, and who knows what life exists out there? It’s not worth his worry. 

But they’re lonely. **He’s** lonely, _Mars_ is. That’s what Annie says. 

“There’s not much we can do about that, though,” he says, she frowns. “It’s a bit too far away.” 

“A bit.” She echoes. 

“A **lot**.” 

Annie smiles, twists her fingers together and watches them as she does that. Finnick finds it difficult to not watch her too- everything she does even now seems to be more calming than the open stars. He wondered why that was, or if it had anything to do with wanting to kiss her. 

He doesn't have a crush on her. Why does he think about this so often? It'd be dumb to have a crush. 

And maybe his upset was growing obvious, or maybe she got tired of whatever it was that he was doing( yearning wasn’t quite the right word, he **wasn’t** yearning, he’s only curious ), because Annie closes the bit of distance between them, scooting closer and pulling her arm through his, leaning her head in against his neck, stroking absentmindedly at his shoulder. 

He didn’t really seem to care about her, that’s what his father would say. He didn’t really seem to care about anyone, or anything. He was too focused on becoming a part of the Capitol to care for his family, or his friends, or anyone. 

Finnick closed his eyes, moved in closer to her, looking away from the stars and burying his face in her hair. He didn’t want to think about how large the world was anymore, he didn’t want to think about all of the possibilities the universe allowed, he only wanted to be here with Annie and forget everything else. 

Perhaps selfishly, he moves his hand to find where hers rests on his arm. For a moment he stays there, waits, listens for what so easily could( or maybe **should** ) turn into rejection, and when he’s only met with an action that’s equal parts nod and nuzzle, he unattached her hand from his arm, instead tangling their fingers. Entwining was the idea, but the angle is a bit too awkward for that, though maybe he likes it like this, even if he will have a sore neck the second they let go. 

“Better?” Annie laughed like she was trying to tease him, but her voice was a bit too honest for that to properly come across. 

He nodded. “I am.” And then there was a bit of a quiet moment, much longer than he meant for, which ended with him kissing her head quickly, nosing at her hair. “Thank you.”


End file.
